Page 49 of The Art of Scandal

“So I run everything past you?”

“Yes. But not for approval, just for a fresh perspective. Like an editor for a novel.”

“I think I get it. You’ll pull me back if I go down some weird rabbit hole—like Catholic saints as Marvel characters. Or naked popes.”

She pressed her lips together, but he could see the hint of a smile, which was a relief. Working together would be hell if she was too mad to laugh at him. “Are these your actual ideas?”

He shrugged. “There might be a few sketches in my drawer.”

“Let’s keep them there.”

As the afternoon passed, they both seemed to settle in. She was all about the work, and he was all about convincing her not to glare daggers at his face. When the food came, he made sure she had plenty of napkins and offered to wave down the server when he forgot her hot sauce. He also finally made her laugh again with an embarrassing story about his brief detour into community theater. “In my defense, I was really bored,” he said. “I’d been living alone for a year, and it felt like adulthood was just constantly running the dishwasher. But then I realized it was filing taxes too, and that seemed likea lot, so I quit the play.”

She ducked her head and gave in to that wind chime giggle he loved. It fed a hunger that had been gnawing at him since she snuck out of his apartment that night. If he couldn’t have her, maybe he could still have this.

Rachel steered the conversation back to art. She explained she was going to work with him the way she used to work with high school students during undergrad, mentoring them through a development period that ended with an artist showcase. “I remember all of their names,” she said, her voice filled with pride when she listed how many of them had gone on to successful careers. He imagined it had to hurt, watching kids she mentored do what she couldn’t, live out the dreams she’d abandoned for something that was slowly eating her alive.

The difference between her now, radiant while she discussed the work she loved, and the aloof woman at the luncheon was stark. This was who she was. If the work they did together was the huge hit that everyone kept predicting, maybe she wouldn’t have to hide that anymore.

They ate in silence for a while before she looked at him with expectant eyes. “Did you bring your portfolio?”

Nathan shifted in his chair. “I don’t have one. Just the stuff online.”

“Well, let’s look at that and brainstorm.”

This was the point of no return. He was starting to form this half-baked dream of putting his name on something meaningful. From here on out, she would know that he really wanted it.

“What if I did something else? Portraits. Maybe.”

She steepled her hands under her chin. “Interesting. Go on.”

The pose was an adorable assault on his willpower. Was he really supposed to ignore that for five weeks? “Some of my favorite artists do things using photo references.”

“Like Kehinde Wiley.”

“The guy who did Obama’s portrait, yeah. A little. But I like using charcoal. And stuff from nature—grass, leaves, and fire?” His face was warm. “Sorry. It’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t apologize.” She moved to touch him but let her hand fall to the table instead. “You mean mixed media. And it sounds interesting.”

He studied her fingers. She wasn’t wearing a ring. “I’d like to use photo references. But I’m not much of a photographer.”

“I can help with that. You don’t need anything fancy. Your phone is fine.” She smoothed a wisp of hair back into place. He missed her curls. He liked how they would wind around his fingers like tendrils of silken rope.

“I have a camera,” he said. “An old Nikon that I don’t know how to use.”

“We can try it out,” Rachel said. “I’ll show you some basics to get you started. How about Monday?”

“Monday’s fine. So’s Tuesday. And Wednesday. I’m free every day.”

She laughed. “So am I. I keep myself busy, but sometimes I wonder if anyone in this town would notice if I was gone.”

That night at the drive-in, when they’d met as strangers, he’d had a similar thought. That he’d made his life so small, her smile might be the biggest thing in it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rachel listened to Vivaldi to calm her nerves while Faith drove through rush-hour traffic.The Four Seasonswas long enough to make it to Potomac, where Niles and his fiancée lived. Faith had been so eager to get behind the wheel since coming home, she pulled her blue Mini out of the garage with a flourish that nearly took out their mailbox.

In addition to her daughter’s rusty driving skills, Rachel was also anxious about the party. Alesha would be there, and so would Mia, with her bloodhound ability to sniff out messy secrets. Thinking about it made her stressed and lonely, so Rachel distracted herself the same way she had all week, by texting Nathan about his photographs. In between messages, she snuck wistful glances at Faith.

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